


Snake Charming

by Blood_Stained_Fingers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Animagus Harry Potter, Cannibalism, Dark, Loss of Identity, M/M, Memory Loss, Opioid Effect, Parselmouths, Parseltongue, Snake Charming, Snakes, Stockholm Syndrome, non-sexual master/pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Stained_Fingers/pseuds/Blood_Stained_Fingers
Summary: Voldemort smiled. It was a cold, creeping thing. Truly human despite it being on a serpentine face.And it was then Harry could see the real Lord Voldemort. Not the madman throwing curses around indiscriminately, but the man who had lured legions of purebloods to his cause, Tom Riddle who had blinded all his teachers bar one.It was calculating. The long-game personified.--Harry would never have guessed that his animagus would have been a snake. Nor the trouble it would bring when Voldemort found out. After all, who needs to kill an enemy when you can keep them?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort, Nagini & Harry Potter
Comments: 78
Kudos: 924
Collections: Harry Potter





	Snake Charming

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [弄蛇（Snake Charming）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638110) by [kylinnnnn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylinnnnn/pseuds/kylinnnnn)



> I don't know why I wrote this. It's not even my best work, I just know theres 8,000 words of it and you all have to suffer too.
> 
> Lockdown is getting to me...

Harry would never have guessed in a million years that his animagus would have been a snake.

In fact, it caused a fair bit of his Gryffindor pride to be stung, and a grave concern it might only deepen his connection to Voldemort.

McGonagall had offered the training to him as some form of consolation prize during his fifth year.

“I can’t help you with Professor Umbridge, Potter. No matter how disgusting I find her actions to be.” She had begun, setting out a cup of tea in front of him with an apologetic look. “We live in unprecedented times. The ministry has never tried to interfere with Hogwarts before.”

And he had sat there, tired beyond belief with his hand red and inflamed with the words ‘I must not tell lies’ carved into it and felt despairing. He had wanted to yell and demand that something be done, but when had that really got anywhere before?

Plus, he respected McGonagall and didn’t want to disrespect her like that, no matter how _frustrated_ he felt.

She had smiled at him, a little forlornly, offering him a plate of biscuits. “As I now know, your father and his friends were unregistered animagi.” She picked up a biscuit herself, weighing her words carefully, “Would you like me to teach you?”

Harry blinked in surprise, sitting straighter, “But, Professor, I’m not very good at Transfiguration,” he prevaricated.

“You are not unskilled, Potter. You are unfocused.” Her mouth pursed reprovingly at him. “I have never seen a Potter who is bad at transfiguration.” She tapped her biscuit against her saucer, eyeing him critically as though they were back in class.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, flushing at the reminder of his family’s - particularly his father’s - history of being good at transfiguration.

“You learnt the Patronus charm at thirteen, didn’t you?” At Harry’s nod, she sat back looking distinctly pleased. “No mean achievement. I believe if you want it enough, you will be able to do it.” She brought her cup to her mouth, “So, do you want it enough?”

And he decided he did.

He had wondered about Ron and Hermione doing it with him, but something had curdled in his chest at the thought. He was so angry all the time, and Hermione would excel as always, Ron would lose interest when the going got tough. And then there were the OWLS and so many other reasons why not to do this.

But…Harry wanted something just for him. For once, he wanted something that would only be his. If only for a little while. Something to bind him closer to Sirius and his dad. Even if he wasn’t successful.

Plus, he wasn’t sure Professor McGonagall would enjoy being volunteered for two more students. This was some kind of pity offering to the student of two ex-pupils she had cared for years ago. Harry clearly wasn’t capable. He couldn’t even sleep through the night anymore. He couldn’t even form basic occlumency shielding for his mind.

He was a wreck.

And felt enough of one to accept her offer, despite the fact that he wasn’t worth being her student for this complex bit of magic.

It had taken months and months of work, which was normal according to McGonagall and she assured him his progress was very good.

It hadn’t been.

Mandrake leaves tasted foul; Harry had choked on them, spat them at people and ended up swallowing more of them that he could count, until he almost liked the taste.

But the reciting of the incantation and all the other meticulous processes helped focus him.

It even had helped with the occlumency. He could not clear his mind completely, but he could focus on something like that and only that – it worked, barely.

Snape had obviously cottoned on to what he was trying to learn. He had sneered at Harry’s ambitions, and had taken points for Harry spitting a chewed-up mandrake leaf on his shoe. It had been an _accident_ , Harry swore. Next time, Harry thought, he might aim for his face.

But it had helped a little. Snape found it harder to navigate Harry’s mind when all he thought was the incantation and the disgusting leaf in his mouth.

Not that it ultimately made a difference in the end.

Sirius had been so excited when Harry had told him, shaving years of the ravaged man… and then Sirius had died and Harry hadn’t wanted to continue the lessons, everything falling to ashes.

But when he had returned at the beginning of sixth year, with a clearer head, he had wanted to finish it off. Actually, complete something.

Make something right.

McGonagall had merely nodded, but there was something pleased about her tight smile.

But it felt something rotten to Harry when he turned out to be a snake.

McGonagall wouldn’t be dissuaded that it wasn’t something bad, “I know snakes have had a bad reputation over the years, not helped by our own Slytherin house, but they are not evil creatures.” She had touched his shoulder with a kind hand, “It is a fine achievement. Your parents would be so proud... Your godfather obnoxious.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that; Sirius had had his life stolen from him when he was 21 and had never seemed to grow out of that young mindset. His dad might have felt the same…

Professor Dumbledore had agreed with McGonagall, “Snakes have been associated with healing and rebirth for many years. I know you’re seeing it through the taint that Voldemort has put in your life, but Harry, it is nothing to ashamed nor concerned about.” He smiled in that kind way he had, pulling out a vial with a shimmering memory in it. “Parseltongue may have influenced your form. It is a unique skill that has more influence over transformations than you would think, but that does not make it inherently evil. Remember, it is always our choices that define us.”

Black mambas were very fast snakes, very venomous. But only when provoked. They didn’t like humans particularly and tended to avoid them. But if confronted, they were aggressive and would rapidly strike several times.

Dumbledore had though the snake form quite apt for Harry with his fast reflexes and more defensive attack style.

Harry was cautioned by both to not tell anyone what his form was, both to avoid the exposure and for his own safety. Of course, Harry was not registered at the ministry and was cautioned to keep the fact he was an animagus at all secret. Surprisingly even Snape was not informed of Harry’s form either.

Harry had initially wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, but when he was revealed to be a snake, he felt cautious. A new frightened part of him that did not want exposure.

There would be negativity if his form was public knowledge, and Harry feared even his friends would be cautious about him.

The shadow Voldemort cast was such a long one.

“You ought to be careful, Potter. Do not stay for excessively long periods of time in your form,” McGonagall cautioned in one of their one-to-one sessions. “For a while, you will be fine but remember the bleed through of characteristics we discussed. You can lose yourself if you are not careful. Animals do not process time in the same way we do.” She watched him with a cat-like stillness, a trait he could more aptly appreciate now. “Most animals do not have the concept of time nor the understanding. If you stay too long, you will lose perspective. Not everyone does, of course and some people spend inordinate amounts of time in their animal form but be wary.”

There was bleed through, of course. Harry noted differences within himself. A certain stillness before an attack, an increased viciousness in keeping an enemy down.

He almost had to stop himself tasting the air on occasion.

Ron and Hermione noticed the slight differences, and asked but Harry said nothing, keeping the secret to himself and of course. It tasted bitter.

He resolved to tell them. They above all else deserved to know.

Then before he could, on a summer night in June, Dumbledore had taken Harry to the cave by the sea to retrieve Voldemort’s horcrux.

Upon discovering the potion guarding the locket, Dumbledore had hesitated ponderingly before asking Harry to complete the insurmountable task of feeding him the potion.

Harry had refused, glancing around at the unnaturally still waters surrounding them. He could not cope with whatever horrors lay in there if Dumbledore was incapacitated.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Dumbledore conceded to this logic and Harry drank the potion instead.

Harry regretted it, could feel the shame clinging to him the way he had clung to the headmaster _begging_ for no more. For it to stop. Even with Dumbledore’s kind and understanding manner, it was embarrassing. Harry felt incredibly rattled.

When they had returned to the castle, it was to the horror of death eaters and Voldemort himself in the castle.

“Run, Harry,” Dumbledore had directed, pushing him back towards the stairs away from the half circle of death eaters surrounding them with his blackened hand.

Harry who was still fighting off the potions terrible effects didn’t need telling twice. Had Dumbledore drank the potion and Harry had been feeling himself, he may have fought it – demanded that he be allowed to help, but his head was swimming.

The screams and the horrors that the potion had made him see had him jittery. His limbs were shaking, buckling and the shapes cast in the setting sun had him frightened.

The death eaters surrounded them, jeeringly. In Harry’s addled state, their faces twisted and elongated, the shadows moved unnervingly, by themselves.

Dumbledore provided cover for him, a bright blast of magic scattering the death eaters, Bellatrix’s wild shriek echoing of the high ceiling.

Harry ran. Down and down the stairs of astronomy tower, trying not to fall over the unforgiving concrete steps.

No one followed him, which was a relief, but his scar prickled uneasily. Anticipatory.

Had this been expected? Was he being herded directly to Voldemort?

The castle was dark at this hour and despite Harry usually having no fear within the darkened corridors of his home…death eaters, Voldemort and his induced paranoia made it impossible to navigate.

He didn’t know where he was going, or what he was going to do when he got there.

There were screams and howls and explosions of stone, deep within the castle.

…and Harry for the first time in his life felt the need to get _away_ from the danger.

It was all too much.

He could hear Dudley running down the corridor, Uncle Vernon’s snarl as he was pelted with letters. There were imaginary fingers gripping his hair, “There’s no such thing as magic!” Ropes around his body, pining him, cold stone jutting into his back. His forearm burning as it was slit in two.

He gasped. Everything was spinning.

Was that potion a poison after all? Was it meant to slowly kill if the inferi couldn’t do their job?

And he could smell them burning still, their shrieks as their dead flesh ignited. He could hear their bodies scrapping on the floor as they dragged themselves towards him.

Harry spun in a wild circle.

This was ridiculous, and he knew it was ridiculous.

But there were death eaters in the castle. And their master.

His scar seared with the pain of Voldemort being near, he couldn’t hear anything anymore over the pounding of his heart against his eardrums. He was sweating profusely, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Voldemort was very close. Harry staggered back as another wave of pain hit him, _searching for him_. He slammed into one of the many suits of armour with a dismally loud clang. Harry fell, gripping the polished metal of the vambraces to support himself. His handprints left clear marks of his presence.

His scar twanged with familiarity. Victory. Nearness.

_Shit. Voldemort was close enough to hear that._

Harry looked down both ends of the corridor, there was nowhere to hide. His vision was sliding around as though he were swinging.

In his panic, it was so easy to shift. To just slip into another skin and slither behind one of the suits of armour (not the one who had given him away), its firm base providing solid cover for his dark grey body. He was quite long for a snake, but not impossibly wieldy. There was enough room for his juvenile form to hide.

“Come out, Potter,” Voldemort’s lilting voice called out. It was high and cold, just like Harry remembered and he shuddered from his head down to his tail. “I know you’re here, Harry. I can feel you.”

In this form, his scar didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it should. It was as if everything had dulled. His head felt warm. Warmer than his body on the cold stone floor, but not unbearable. His head felt clearer for the lack of pain, but the change in height made the moving shadows seem deeper and more threatening.

With being in this form, he could feel the dangers even more presently. Could taste Voldemort in the air, his cloying and heavy presence rank with anticipation.

Harry was glad he was unable to shriek when the suit of armour above him scattered with a violent clang of metal. He hunched, hissing slightly. He was tempted to bury his head under his coils, but instinct would not allow for that.

If it came to it, he had to be ready to strike and strike as fast as he could. He was a black mamba; he had the speed.

He didn’t think that his hissing was heard over the terrible clatter of the armour bouncing off the flagstones.

There was a stagnant pause.

Nothing for a moment.

“I _know_ you’re here, Potter!” Voldemort hissed angrily. “I have no time nor patience for your cowardice. I can sense you.” The man strode around in a wide circle, and Harry could just catch glimpses of the Dark Lord’s white cranium from his angle. “Come out and meet me.”

Harry remained still, trying not to move into a threat display. He needed to stay quiet and unnoticed. His dark form almost completely blended in with the stones of the castle in the low light and his eyes were dark black. There was nothing to stand out. Nothing to catch the light.

Voldemort had paused, arms loosely spread, and his wand tilted down, his head tilted back in the air as though he were trying to divine Harry’s location through scent or omnipresence alone.

Suddenly, the thick base that had supported the armour was whipped away with a deafening screech before it exploded. Harry was surprised that Voldemort had not just shattered it where it stood, causing another explosion and damage to Harry.

Though perhaps Voldemort had wanted to unveil Harry crouching, unharmed, behind the block like a coward for the full entertainment value.

The silence rang as Harry had the panicked, delayed realisation he was completely exposed.

Voldemort was _looking_ at him. Looking at him like he had never seen him before. Like he had never even seen a snake in his life.

Harry hissed threateningly; thin hood flared as he stared up at Voldemort. The man had paused in his casting at the sudden movement. He waved his wand again, casting wordlessly something Harry couldn’t see; he flinched anyway with a new wave of agitated hissing.

“ _Harry?”_ Voldemort asked cautiously, but Harry could taste his amusement and excitement in the air.

Harry raised his body more threateningly, displaying his fangs and black mouth. _Keep away. Keep the fuck away_. He wanted to say but found himself beyond words.

Voldemort smiled, “ _It is you, isn’t it?_ ” He sounded delighted, as if the increase in Harry’s display was all the confirmation he needed. Perhaps it was, Harry thought.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand sharply, and Harry couldn’t move fast enough to not be caught by the bright white light. It burned with sharp raze of heat throughout his entire body, a tight cuff squeezing him from one end to the other.

He writhed for a moment, shaking his head angrily.

But the pain was sudden and quick, not lingering. It was not even a sensation that Harry could ascribe to any form of torture curse he had previously experienced.

Harry snarled at Voldemort as much as he was able to in this form, before deciding to get to his feet. Enough of this game. He could not keep hiding.

And then there was nothing.

He realised exactly what Voldemort had done.

He couldn’t shift back to his human form.

He didn’t even realise there was such a spell. Trying not to panic even more than he currently was, the deep paranoia and fear in him escalated even further. _What was he going to do?!_

Harry had to remember to breathe. Why on earth would Voldemort trap him in his form?

Ultimately, he was probably more dangerous now than as a human. His only weapon was his lethality and speed. He couldn’t even choose mercy through dry bites.

Harry knew that the school had no anti-venom for his bite. Why would they need it? He was an animagus and not an actual snake. He had human thought and control – his temper was a lot more even this year now his headaches had ceased. Even then if there was an accident, he could just be asked for it.

“ _Calm down, little one,”_ Voldemort instructed, kneeling down onto the cold floor to be closer to him.

Harry stilled, found himself lowering some of his body, though still displaying his mouth and hissing.

Harry thought Voldemort was stupid for a moment, unable to help himself when he saw a snake. _Fucking moron._ Though Harry was a little like that too, entranced with snakes and almost always desiring to speak with them when he saw them.

There was a fatal magnetism between parselmouths and snakes. As Riddle had confessed to Dumbledore all those years ago, snakes _found_ him. But then another horrific thought settled in Harry’s mind, like a bell ringing in the distance.

Parselmouths were snake-charmers.

They were known for it. In countries where it was not immediately considered a dark gift, they were regularly hired to deal with snakes. Snakes were almost always bound by their words. Persuaded in a way that was unavoidable. Even the most reluctant snake would _listen_ to a parselmouth.

Hadn’t Harry’s heart rate slowed down at Voldemort’s words? His angered hissing coming down a notch from aggressive to defensive?

“ _Oh, Harry, what a beautiful specimen you are,”_ Voldemort crooned, holding out his right hand.

Harry snapped at him, ducking his head down away from the Dark Lord, eyes darting around for an escape.

Voldemort withdrew his hand. “ _Shhh,”_ he tried again, soothingly. _“It’s okay. What are we going to do with you?”_

It most certainly was not okay. It was definitely not okay the way Harry felt himself relax further at hearing Voldemort speaking so kindly…so _warmly_ to him.

Harry’s beady eyes darted around. The corridors at Hogwarts were wide, massively so, enabling hordes of students to mill around and hurry to class. There was plenty of space to move around the man; he even was settled a fair distance away to not crowd Harry, but Voldemort seemed to dominate the space.

Half the corridor was covered in a fine smattering of broken, sharp rubble too. That wouldn’t be pleasant for Harry to travel over, it would cut into his flesh.

It all made Harry anxious. He felt dwarfed.

He needed to get away.

_The snake in him wanted to hide._

He began to move towards the wall, hissing and spitting even though Voldemort’s only movement was his horrid, red eyes trailing Harry.

“ _What happened tonight, Harry? You were not in the castle when we arrived. Where did you and Dumbledore go?”_

Harry snapped his jaws angrily, warningly. “ _Leave me alone,”_ he hissed, sliding around the robust, empty breastplate of his previous protector. He had to fight the urge to hide under it.

“ _What did he do to you, Harry? You’re very frightened, I can tell.”_ Voldemort’s body turned with Harry, his voice sympathetic mien.

Harry hated that soothing voice.

And it was soothing, terribly so. He could feel himself unwinding visibly, the tautness of his body releasing.

“ _I’m not,”_ he bit out defensively, slowly starting to move away again.

Voldemort smiled. It was a cold, creeping thing. Truly human despite it being on a serpentine face.

And it was then Harry could see the real Lord Voldemort. Not the madman throwing crucios around indiscriminately, but the man who had lured legions of purebloods to his cause, Tom Riddle who had blinded all his teachers bar one.

It was calculating.

The long-game personified.

“ _You are, Harry. And that’s okay. Black mambas are surprisingly flighty considering they are so highly venomous.”_ He shifted closer, and Harry could taste his bemusement and his pleasure at this situation. Harry skirted along, making sure his tail was no where near Voldemort’s grip. “ _It must be quite daunting for your other nature to be in this castle with all this noise and fighting. I know you don’t like humans.”_

Harry had heard enough, he was lulling. Just Voldemort’s voice and tone, even the taste of him and his intentions in the air was too much.

Harry darted off.

He was a fast breed of snake. And faster than your average black mamba was at that, but rumours of the black mambas’ speed were greatly exaggerated, and he was no match for Voldemort and his incredibly fast reflexes.

He blocked Harry’s path, clipping him with another nameless spell that made his neck burn. Aggravated, Harry lunged, but Voldemort was expecting the move. He grabbed at Harry, capturing a bite on the hand for his troubles, before securing his hold about Harry’s neck. “ _Now, now, Harry. That isn’t nice is it?”_

Harry glowered at the wound he had given Voldemort from his confines, having been unable to release any venom, nor strike again and again as instinct dictated.

“ _Yes, I know. How frustrating for you that you could not kill me with a hefty dose of your venom.”_ Despite the biting words, Voldemort looked very pleased that Harry had struck, admiring the sharp puncture wounds that were bleeding freely. “ _I hate to stymie you like this, but one must take precautions.”_

Harry weakly thrashed, hating the taste of the air, the lilting tones of parseltongue that didn’t grate his ears like English did.

Voldemort gently wrapped Harry around his arm with a careful hand. He made sure not to disrupt Harry’s scales or allow the material of his robes to pull against his underbelly.

Harry hated him for it. Hated himself for not being able to put up much of a struggle. He couldn’t constrict and do any damage that way, he was a slender snake built for speed above all else. Hated himself for relaxing into the warmth. Even where his scar should be broiling with agony seemed settled.

“ _It’s not safe for you, Harry. There is a battle raging.”_ Voldemort stroked his head with his thumb, blood already gone from his puncture wounds. _“And you’re a snake. A very dangerous species of snake. No one else can understand you. Everyone will fear you.”_

That chilled Harry, his flared hood crushed against Voldemort’s dominating grip.

“ _Take off the spell,”_ he demanded.

There was an amused huff _, “No.”_ Voldemort carried on his petting and Harry tried not to enjoy it. _“Tell me what Dumbledore and you were doing tonight,”_ The Dark Lord cajoled again. “ _I may even spare your friends.”_

Harry blinked in alarm. He had forgot about Hermione and Ron, even Neville, Ginny and Luna for a moment. Forgot that they too would be the target of Voldemort’s rage if they were caught.

 _“You’ll spare them?”_ he echoed, uneasy. It was possible to lie in parseltongue, it was just another language, but there was always more leniency when spoken in the language of the serpents. Potentially a false trust, but a trust none the less.

“ _If they do not stand against me, they are merely students and there is no reason for me to harm the students now, is there?”_ And in that honied tongue, didn’t that sound reasonable?

Voldemort was walking, his gait surprisingly smooth. The shadows cast by spellfire never seemed to come close to the Dark Lord, it dulled around him, soothing the lingering fear and desire to flee in Harry.

Harry squirmed a little, uneasily and Voldemort’s grip tightened slightly at the movement, but didn’t becoming too constraining. “ _Where were you tonight, Harry?”_

 _“A cave,”_ Harry finally said, unable to mutter in parseltongue.

_“A cave?”_

_“The cave you went to.”_ The grip tightened painfully, the Dark Lord’s thumb applying a cruel pressure to the base of Harry’s skull as though he were trying to milk venom, or push Harry’s brain out through his throat. When Harry said no more, bar from a pained hiss, Voldemort removed his thumb.

“ _Carry on, Harry.”_ His voice was tight with anger, _“Why were you at the cave?”_

“ _We went to retrieve your… locket.”_

Voldemort stopped walking, slowly releasing the physical pressure on Harry, though it felt as if it were in reverse. There was a vice around Harry’s neck, his body. He could barely breathe.

 _“And did you?”_ It was asked gently, so soft that it couldn’t be anything other than lethal. The thumb at the back of Harry’s skull weighed heavily.

Harry squirmed angrily at the memory, his body tightening its coils around Voldemort’s arm in upset. Both at the recollection of Dumbledore forcing mouthful upon mouthful of that poison onto him and at Voldemort’s dangerous tone.

With the constrained grip around Harry, Voldemort could easily snap his neck, crush his skull. That was the kind of power Voldemort enjoyed. The power over life and death. Harry felt the beginnings of panic rising in him again.

The static in the air that heralded Voldemort’s anger suddenly stopped, and the man gentled again in his ministrations. _“He made you drink the potion, didn’t he? How cruel of him, no wonder you are so flighty this evening.”_ His thumb smoothed over the back of Harry’s head rhythmically. Harry blinked sedately. “ _I can see you’re calming down now though. I’m glad, I do not like to see a serpent in such distress.”_

“ _Even if it’s me?”_ Harry couldn’t help himself.

“ _Even if it’s you. Such a beautiful snake you make, Harry.”_ Harry gave an angry and affronted, if incredibly lethargic hiss. Voldemort was _so warm._ Harry could feel his heart rate slowing down.

“ _Does Dumbledore still have the locket? Do not lie to me, beautiful one.”_

Harry sighed, _“Yes.”_ Unintentionally, he leaned his head into the soothing strokes, “ _He put it in his pocket.”_

Voldemort made a soft crooning sound to that news, seemingly pleased. “ _It is good that I came along this evening then, isn’t it? You could have put yourself in a lot of trouble if harm had come to that locket, young one.”_ Things became blurrier after that, Harry falling into a light doze exacerbated by tiredness, fear and the body heat exuded from the Dark Lord, along with that odd soothing croon.

When he awoke, it was to the world where Harry Potter was dead, and Voldemort had a new snake; a highly venomous and very fast snake.

After all, who needs to kill an enemy when you can keep them?

#

Harry didn’t like Malfoy Manor. At least that is where he thought he was.

He had known before, back when he had known things…like the date and his friends’ names, but his memory had become disjointed, details seemed less concrete over time.

Someone had warned him about this, hadn’t they?

Harry used to enquire a lot about what was happening, who was involved, casualties. But it became harder and harder to remember what those things meant.

Human names and concepts had little context to snakes. Human faces were hard too. Harry could recall freckles and bushy hair. Voices. But who were they? He couldn’t ask after them if he couldn’t remember who they were.

“ _How are my friends?”_

“ _They are well as far as I am aware, Harry. Are you asking about anyone in particular?”_ Voldemort would indulge him.

The hesitance was telling, _“…No. Just all of them.”_

Voldemort just smiled, that horrible knowing smile that said he knew that Harry didn’t know what he wanted to ask. He would then offset it with a distraction of prey for Harry to hunt, or physical affection, and the issue would be forgotten for a while.

It nagged Harry though, in those hours where he could be by himself, and for a while he almost returned to a human awareness.

But who could be talk to?

Voldemort would lull him back into a sleepy, content state. Nagini assured him that the master was the one to talk to, that master would never harm them.

And he hadn’t.

Voldemort hadn’t cursed him, nor tortured him. Whenever he touched Harry, he was gentle. He fed Harry well, made him comfortable.

And that made the betrayals harder each time, because the more time he spent listening to Voldemort, the easier it became to give into his demands.

The opioid effect never went away, only seemed to drag him down faster.

Harry was sure that information, limited as it was, had been extracted from him, but he couldn’t remember what.

There had been a tantrum of epic proportions when he had first arrived, something to do with the locket Dumbledore had stolen. He may have given up the location of Grimmauld Place… it was disturbing how little he could recall about his time.

There was no one who he could talk to about his situation, no way to get out (not for a lack of trying) and his wand was trapped on his human body.

As much as he hated to admit it, and detested himself for it, it was much easier to be a snake. To wait it out. Patience wasn’t the way Harry would have chosen, but it was his only choice.

Harry had found himself several nice hidey-holes under vanity units and cabinets throughout the house. They were all pressed up against the walls in small alcoves with just enough room for him to fit under them.

Better yet, Nagini was too large to join him, though sometimes she would poke her massive head under his latest bit of furniture to lure him out.

He didn’t mind Nagini too much, often forgetting that he was supposed to hate her. He was quite a bit smaller than her, but she was a lot older. She liked having a ‘hatchling’ around and would try to lure him to join her by the fire. It felt pointless to tell her was sixteen…if he still was sixteen at this point.

Harry wasn’t sure of what species she was, it felt it somewhat rude to ask but she was inherently larger and more vicious than Harry. She spent the death eater meetings curled up by the fire or draped around Voldemort himself.

She enjoyed the free food.

Harry, when forced to attend, had found himself a secluded spot under a chesterfield where he could curl up and sleep. Voldemort had even warmed the crevice when he found where Harry was hiding.

As a consequence, the majority of the death eaters did not know about Harry. Generally, the death eaters left any snakes in the manor well alone. Not that there were masses of them around, but the ones that were, were always tied to the Dark Lord.

It had initially surprised Harry how much some of the death eaters did not like snakes. They were proud of being Slytherins but the moment a real snake appeared, they tasted anxious and fearful. Nagini loved it, but the scent only set Harry on edge.

McNair once sent a wide swinging kick at him in the corridor and Harry had struck out defensively, several times, making a bloody mess of the man’s leg. He’d then fled, curses chasing him and hidden under Voldemort’s robe around his ankles and calves for a few hours.

Another time, it had been Draco Malfoy that had set him off. His ex-classmate always smelt so rank with anxiety even in his own home that it made Harry unbearably nervous.

It didn’t help that _he_ made Malfoy nervous in turn. Fortunately, Voldemort had been nearby when that occurred.

“Careful, Draco,” Voldemort warned. “He is flighty. No sudden movements. He can only give dry bites, but he will give you a lot of them.”

Malfoy was sweating profusely, wand clasped in his hand but not pointing at Harry. That would be suicide.

“ _Harry? Harry, it’s okay. The Malfoy brat won’t harm you,”_ Voldemort called, unbearably gentle.

But Harry couldn’t move. He hissed warningly; eyes fixed on the blonde wizard. He thought he may know him.

This is what he hated, what addled him.

He _knew_ this wizard. But in that moment, he didn’t know how or where from.

The Dark Lord talking to him just made it worse. The man was approaching now, knowing Harry wouldn’t strike at him, no matter how defensive he was feeling.

Voldemort had picked him up, and he was _so warm_. Objectively, Harry had always thought that Voldemort would be colder than the average human, and maybe he was, but he was also a lot warmer than the floors in this house.

Though Harry himself had never left the country, black mambas were used to much hotter climates than the UK. Even in the heat of summer, basking the sunlight was never as warm as it should be.

He curled up a little tighter around his arm, settling his head on the back of Voldemort’s hand.

To his credit, the wizard said nothing, he never gloated. Just smoothed his thumb over Harry’s head as he adjusted his sleeve, before dismissing Malfoy who was almost pissing himself.

At least two cold seasons had been and gone.

Voldemort had no translation in parseltongue.

Dark Lord did, but Harry found that bizarre.

Nagini didn’t know who he was referring to, only knowing that the Dark Lord was her master. It was easier to prompt her with that.

‘The master’ soon became just ‘master’.

And Harry began to forget he ever objected to the man at all.

#

There was half a leg shuffling in front of him. More like a foot and a bit of the calf, the shinbone having been removed. Big bones weren’t good for Harry. He was still too slight to be able to digest a thick bone like that.

Nagini could manage it. He could not.

The limb was spattering blood everywhere as it ambled around, loose bones crunching as the meat wavered without support.

Harry had never been given a limb like this before. Voldemort has certainly fed him some awful things, but he had transfigured them first. Small, normal prey to appeal to Harry’s senses. Nothing too objectionable. For him to be offering a limb like this meant that he wasn’t going to coddle Harry anymore.

And Harry could accept that he had been. At least in Voldemort’s eyes.

He wanted to protest at this foot outside his hiding spot, but it smelt the same as every other bit of food that Voldemort had provided him. It even moved in a pleasing way.

Harry hunted it sedately, tongue flickering out as he slowly removed himself from the chesterfield. The foot danced away.

“ _Good boy, Harry,”_ Voldemort praised as he watched Harry begin to follow the limb. He was always reinforcing pleasing behaviour in Harry. Unlike his human followers who only received acknowledgment for their failures.

The foot wasn’t going fast, sometimes Voldemort would put some speed into his transfigured meals and Harry would have to streak with all the speed he was capable of to catch it. But not today. Today the foot merely took its time and Harry got to stalk it.

The blood it was leaking was warm under Harry’s belly. It was making a right mess.

He lunged. Caught it. Held it for a long moment, even though he couldn’t lace it with venom to kill it. It jerked; fresh nerves still able to react to stimuli that weren’t really there. Harry let it go, watched it stagger even more disorientated than before, and struck again.

After it had finished its twitching, Harry began to swallow it. The ankle had been shattered for him, and although it was an exceptionally large piece of meat for his size, he managed to swallow it whole without the risk of having to regurgitate it later.

Voldemort was still watching him, pausing the consumption of his own meal. He looked ravenous, enraptured every time Harry ate food provided to him, even more so now that Harry had eaten something so obviously taken from a human.

The gathered, _honoured_ death eaters were silent, taking great pains to not look at either the Dark Lord, Nagini or Harry.

Voldemort noticed Harry’s attention, “ _Come here, Harry,”_ he said warmly, holding out a hand with a smile. “ _What do you say for your meal?”_

Harry didn’t like to move too much after eating. Especially after a meal that size, but he sluggishly trailed over. “ _Thank you,”_ he said obligingly.

He was smearing blood all over the fine floors, reddish-brown drying streaks staining the rugs and the furniture.

Voldemort picked him up with a flick of his wand instead of his hands, so Harry’s digestion was not disrupted, and he was settled onto the Dark Lord’s lap.

The man gently wrapped a little of his robes around Harry to give him some additional warmth, though his thighs were very comfortable. Harry could taste his happiness as he looked down on Harry before continuing his meal.

It wasn’t a normal kind of happiness; it was a violent crest of victory. Harry had evidently passed some kind of test.

The death eaters picked at their meals, subtly (or not so subtly in some cases) flinching every so often as Nagini finished off the rest of the man that Harry had had the foot from. She was constricting around him, tighter and tighter. The bones groaned, creaked and whined under the pressure; light cracks permeated the air as she squeezed her meal down into a more compact, digestible size.

Everyone’s smile was brittle at the table, the slow and measured eating of the nauseated.

A large _snap_ rang out. Malfoy actually whimpered, nearly knocking over his drink as the corpse’s humerus and then spine broke under the onslaught. Harry sleepily poked his head up to the tabletop to see Nagini past one of the death eater’s elbows. She looked even larger than normal, backlit by the roaring fire; a fully-grown man clasped in her coils.

Voldemort smiled blandly, petting Harry gently now that he had finished his own meal. It helped with Harry’s grumbling, feeling too full after his meal.

The conversation was stilted, and Harry dozed, only waking up to the painfully loud sounds of bones splintering and the smell of terror spiking in the air.

It was irritating. He liked to sleep off a meal in peace. But Voldemort was still talking, finding the taut atmosphere titillating. Only the bravest and most unhinged death eaters were calm. It was upsetting to Harry, only offset by Voldemort’s occasional soothing pets.

Harry kept raising his head, hooking it around Voldemort’s right wrist (never his left, that would be punishable - he needed to cast with that) and pulling his hand down again to resume his petting.

“ _I’m too generous with you, Harry. My own death eaters may perceive me as weak due to my fondness for you.”_ It wasn’t said meanly, on the contrary, Voldemort sounded very pleased. Like he always did when he was content that Harry had exceeded his previous expectations.

Still Harry took the warning for what it was, Voldemort was happy to play for now but next time he removed his hand, Harry couldn’t chase it.

 _“I’ll bite them. And Nagini will eat them,”_ he responded, in the closest to a mutter he could manage in parseltongue. Harry was not sure why he said it. Not sure at all.

Voldemort did laugh then, in the human way; loud, high and cold. He did remove his hand at some point to continue his conversation with the man on his right, but it came back on its own.

The rat-man squeaked, fear worse than even the young blonde man’s – Malfoy – that was his name. Harry fixed his beady eyes on him. He hated him, with a fury he couldn’t identify the source of. Watery blue eyes widened when he saw Harry’s black eyes watching him, head resting almost innocuously beside Voldemort’s cutlery. Harry let out a venomous hiss, wordless and threatening. Pettigrew shivered.

“ _Surely, you can’t eat more, Harry?”_ Voldemort chuckled, that vicious pleasure rising off him again, “ _After I fed you so well too.”_ His fingers ran across Harry’s distended form, causing Harry to shudder a little. He curled back into a ball.

Voldemort evidently had something planned, his scent so inordinately happy that Harry could only liken it to the first time Voldemort had seen him as a snake. It was a scent Harry associated with Voldemort’s plans coming together.

#

Harry thought he had been changed back into a human, though he must be dreaming. He could feel his fingers and his toes.

He could move them.

Not individually, but all together. He could clench them and unclench, but individual movement was a bit beyond him.

How long had he been a snake?

Not that long, surely?

Sirius never had trouble when he returned to two legs, and nor did that rat, Pettigrew. But then again, they were returning from four limbs to four limbs, even if they were balancing on only two in their human form. Harry had no limbs.

He groaned, then startled at the sound of his own voice. It was deeper than he recalled, though objectively he knew it must be the same. He was so used to the high-pitched hissing sound of parseltongue now.

He could smell the hints of fire, the taint of rotting singed flesh clinging to his clothes from that night in the cave, but the panic from that night didn’t resurface.

He squinted blearily up at the ceiling, unable to pick out any details. He found that bizarre, used to the sharped eyed stare of his snake eyes. Had someone taken his glasses?

Harry tried to move but his body was very heavy, his shoulders rolled, but his limbs remained uncooperative. He tried again, this time a wriggle, but this body didn’t have the same smooth motions as he normally did.

He nearly rolled off the cushioned surface, but for the hands that caught his shoulders. There was someone pale above him and his scar seared. They laughed. “No, Harry. That’s not how you move this body.”

Harry hissed at the ugly sounding words, confused.

“ _I know. I know,”_ Voldemort crooned, and began patting him down. There was an inspection of his arms, and distantly, Harry thought about his wand. _Did he have his wand? What was the spell for light again?_ The Dark Lord ran his fingers across the scar on his left arm from his own resurrection consideringly.

Harry started to squirm under the attention, suddenly feeling like he was coming up from under anaesthesia.

Voldemort stroked his hair, pulling his head back gently to look at his scar. Harry hissed at the pain. It didn’t hurt normally. It hadn’t hurt for ages. “ _Easy, Harry.”_ He was admonished.

Harry felt his boots being removed, followed by his socks. His clothes were transfigured into something softer, a loose robe.

“ _There we are, no more need for shoes, hmm?”_ Voldemort said with a final pat to Harry’s head. “ _And a nice robe for you to see the new millennium in with.”_

Then everything was shrinking and shrinking and the world made more sense again. His tongue flickered out, tasting the air. Slithering over the edge of the ottoman he was on; he inspected the boots on the floor. He recoiled from their foul taste.

The boots shuffled out of the way, their laces pulling them into better shape, and Harry looked to Voldemort who was crouched in front of where he had been. He was holding a brown wand, Harry could taste that it was his, “ _That’s my wand,”_ he found himself saying, though not accusingly.

“ _No, it’s not, Harry. It is my wand.”_ That…that wasn’t right. Harry knew that. In fact, that was what he was more certain of than anything else.

But did he want to argue it? There was something in the way Voldemort held himself. Harry could push and be indulged on most things, but this he knew was dangerous territory. And after all this time, he had a peculiar fear of displeasing the master ingrained in his bones.

“ _Are these mine?”_ he asked about the boots instead.

Voldemort nodded silently.

“ _They taste bad,”_ Harry remarked, winding around them in a curious manner. He’d been near the sea in these, sweating in fear. It all tasted very bizarre seeing as it was his own human scent he was cataloguing.

 _“I imagine so. You’ve been wearing them for some time.”_ The master sounded amused again, tasted it too. Harry tried to recall what was so funny.

 _“Seasons?”_ He queried. He could see Nagini gaining interest now, waking from her slumber.

_“Several, little one. I’m sorry I didn’t remove them from you sooner.”_

Harry wanted them gone all of a sudden, finding the reminder of a life he often struggled to remember upsetting. _“Make them go away.”_

The Dark Lord smiled and vanished of the offending items. “ _Come here, Harry. We have a meeting to attend. Nagini.”_ He picked Harry up, allowing Harry to wind around him, _“I really shouldn’t indulge you like this. Nagini is independent enough to travel to meetings on her own.”_

Nagini playfully snapped at Harry’s tail, “ _Hatchling could get there faster. Hatchling is lazy,”_ Harry hissed down imperiously at her from his perch on Voldemort’s shoulders.

“ _Enough now, I won’t have you two fighting.”_ Voldemort’s hand caught Nagini’s body in a stroke as she brushed past them. “ _You’ve caused enough damage to my death eaters when you get along.”_

Nagini preened at the praise whilst Harry felt conflicted at his own pleasure. He didn’t like the death eaters, but he shouldn’t like being praised by the master either. He wound himself a bit tighter.

Harry had been given many opportunities to strike at Voldemort’s death eaters, both at his behest and through Harry’s own instinct, and had never been punished for it. The female who shrieked was grating to the human ear, was inhuman to him now. The rat-man was fun to chase, to bite.

And yet he was never harmed. Scolded, yes, but not harmed. Constantly lulled by the Dark Lord’s poisoned tongue.

Voldemort had started to conduct his meetings in Latin, or some other archaic language – Harry was sure of it. He was inclined to say Latin though, as he understood certain words, their clarity jumping out at him.

Spells were mostly in Latin, weren’t they? Or a bastardisation of Latin at least. Someone used to say that, Harry was sure. But he couldn’t remember her name.

“ _Why are your meetings no longer in English?”_ Harry asked, as Voldemort settled in his chair at the head of the table.

Voldemort stroked his head, and Harry pressed into his _warm, warm_ skin. He realised he must have grown quite a lot as his skull now fit in Voldemort’s palm.

“ _What do you mean, Harry?”_ Voldemort indulged with a curious smile. Harry’s tongue flickered across the Dark Lord’s wrist.

“ _Why aren’t they in English?”_ Harry asked again, feeling confused but he could taste Voldemort’s happiness, the spattering of mean joy that oftentimes decorated his skin. “ _I don’t understand them anymore.”_

“ _That’s okay, Harry,”_ Voldemort crooned to him, and began his petting again, “ _You do not need to know to know what we’re speaking about. It is rather dull.”_

Harry agreed blandly, not understanding why he felt upset. He was too large now to fit up the master’s sleeve, no matter how baggy and voluminous the robes were, so instead he coiled around his arm, brushing his head against the man’s chest affectionately as he wound himself around the chair.

“ _I shall take Nagini and you hunting tomorrow, if you would like?”_

 _“Will there be no meat from the meeting?”_ Harry asked, as he wound back around the chair, his head coming to rest on the master’s shoulder as he watched the gathered, nameless faces.

He hadn’t been fed for a while.

He could taste as well as sense the man’s smirk, “ _Perhaps.”_

The season was turning cold again.


End file.
